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“Has Aerion repeated his… advances?” Baelor asks carefully.
“Well, he—The prince is…”
“Like a whore desperate for some coin.”
“Stubborn.” Ser Duncan finishes, wide-eyed.
“That too, I suppose,” Baelor says wryly. “I don’t need to tell you to pay him no mind, do I?”
“No,” The knight denies vehemently. “I won’t disappoint you like that, Your Grace.”
A pause, after which Baelor hears himself ask as though he’s outside of his body, listening in. He regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth. “And if you hadn’t pledged yourself to me?”
Ser Duncan looks caught, his blush darkening high up in his cheeks. “I have no business doing that with a prince.”
“And if he wasn’t one?” He presses.
“I don’t know. Aerion is hateful, but—pretty.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Baelor sighs. Aerion is pretty. It’s everything he hides behind that which makes him ugly.
“You are very handsome as well, Your Grace.” Ser Duncan is quick to reassure him, nodding seriously.
Inevitably charmed, Bealor has to hide his smile behind his hand.
Or, Dunk gets two Targaryen squires and finds himself in the middle of a bizarre love triangle.
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